One of Our Dinosaurs is Missing
by Damagoed
Summary: Surprisingly involving a missing dinosaur, the back of Sherlock's neck and the bit just below John's navel. Amongst other things. Complete nonsense just because! Please review and enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes favorite part of John Watson was the bit where his belly joined his hips. That little furry bit about three inches below his navel and three inches above his cock that got exposed if he yawned and stretched. John always thought Sherlock could have picked a better feature to fixate on. His shoulders, even with the mangled scarred bit, were quite spectacular in their broadness. He had received several compliments about his legs as well, which despite being short were solid and muscular. And when he was in basic training the overall size of his manhood had been commented on favorably. So he didn't quite understand Sherlock's fascination with that particular area of his body. But then Sherlock was never going to be normal. The first time he had become aware of Sherlock's fascination had been whilst he had been trying to reach the new box of teabags on top of the cupboard in the kitchen. Sherlock had licked him. Actually licked him, like an ice-cream.

John's favorite part of Sherlock was the nape of his neck. The nape of that very long elegant neck, where his dark curls herringboned down into the white skin of his back. John would happily spend hours stroking the soft milky skin until Sherlock fell asleep. Of course, Sherlock's overall gorgeousness registered pretty high up on the "totally shaggable" scale, but it was mostly the back of his neck that got John all hot and flustered just thinking about it. He was very jealous of Sherlock's scarf. As a keen student of anatomy back in the day, John supposed he should have been more interested in Sherlock's ridiculous cheekbones or his long legs. But he liked his neck. And that was that.

It was one late evening in Baker Street that found John tapping away on his Laptop whilst Sherlock slowly overdosed on nicotine patches on the sofa.

"John, I'm bored."

"It's your own fault. You should have taken that case Lestrade wanted help with."

"The British Museum and a missing dinosaur? Don't think so."

"I like dinosaurs."

"You used to collect fossils as a child."

"Yes. And how did you know that? I supposed you deduced it from my ammonite paperweight?"

"What that thing that looks like a stone turd? I asked your sister what to get you for Christmas. She said you used to like fossils."

"Oh. "

"I really don't think the Police need my help finding a skeleton that is 25 meters long."

There was silence. John stood up and stretched a little. Suddenly he had Sherlock's full attention, one eyebrow arched suggestively. John pulled his jumper down in a desperate act of self defense.

"Dinosaurs have very long necks, don't they John?" he pushed his silk dressing gown from his bare shoulders and leaned forwards a little.

"That's really not fair." But John had already pulled his jumper off over his head and was making his way up Sherlock's back towards his neck with eager lips when both mobile phones, the flat phone and John's laptop all signaled incoming calls and messages.

"I suppose it might be important." Sherlock grumbled as he answered. "Holmes. Good evening Inspector… What another one?... And how did no one notice this?... They brought the first one back?... How did no one notice that?... Anderson. Well that explains everything. We'll be right there." He looked at John for a few moments.

"The bad news, John, is that we have to postpone what I'm sure was going to be another evening of mind blowing sexual intercourse. The good news is you get to go to the museum and play with the dinosaur fossils."

"I'd much rather stay here and play with you. Anyway I thought you said a missing dinosaur wasn't interesting enough."

"That was before they brought back the first one they stole and then stole another one. I want to see how they did it. Come on John, this is interesting. I thought you liked fossils."

"When I was eight I liked fossils. I grew out of it."

"When I was eight I liked Mozart and the periodic table. You must have had such a simple carefree childhood. What was it like?"

"Shut up and give me back my jumper."

Sherlock was already dressed by the time john's head emerged from inside his sweater. His lovely neck was safely covered with his blue scarf where it would not cause any distractions.

"Come on John. The game's on again!"


	2. Chapter 2

The Natural History Museum should have been in darkness. And on reflection, thought John Watson, he and Sherlock should have been in bed. And he should have been in Sherlock. He shook his head and looked around. There were several SOC officers dusting for prints and taking photographs. Anderson was casting his rat faced gaze over what John thought might be a body, and Sherlock was standing next to LeStrade, a harassed and tearful looking man with a badly fitting suit gesturing and talking between sobs in front of them.

"Donald's been with us for years. Years. I don't know what we'll do now. It's just such a terrible shock." He blew his nose on an ostentatious handkerchief.

"Donald? That's the security guard?"

"Who? Donald is our Diplodocus, Inspector." He waved his hands over the dinosaur sized empty space in the entrance hall. John had decided he had heard far too much and went over to where Anderson was kneeling by the Uniformed, very dead Security guard.

"Ah, teeny freak! I was wondering when you'd get here. Took your time though. Too busy bumming your boyfriend?"

"Why don't you suck my dick and find out?" Anderson scowled. It would take him a good fifteen minutes to come up with a retort to that, by which time he would have forgotten why he was going to say it anyway.

John looked down. Security guard: Mike Jones according to his name badge. About 35. Six foot, 175pounds, Short reddish-brown hair. Ex forces- recently ex forces. He was wearing army issue boots, polished to a shine so brilliant you would have been able to see up his nose. Uniform was immaculate. Probably guards regiment. Some marks on his face that had occurred long enough before death to start to bruise. Hyoid bone intact, not strangled then. Graze on his knuckle- he had fought back. None of these were remarkable observations. But the look on the dead man's face was one of total horror.

"What do you make of it John?"

"In my opinion he was grabbed from behind and strangled. You can see the marks on his face and neck." Anderson got in first with a smug look on his face.

"Thank you Ratty. When I want your opinion I'll... never want your opinion because it's always wrong. John?" Sherlock pulled at his scarf.

"I think he had a heart attack. There's no indication that the airway has been crushed or obstructed, he wasn't strangled. No signs of violence that would have been fatal. I think his heart gave out. I think he was frightened to death." Anderson sniggered.

"Frightened to death?"

"Yes. It is possible. I've seen it. Before."

"Bollocks." Anderson just didn't know when to quit. LeStrade steered them towards the next Gallery in the hope of avoiding a punch up.

"This is the one they brought back." He pointed at a Dinosaur skeleton that was stood with a slightly sarcastic grin on its bony face. "It was stolen last week, whilst they were renovating this gallery. They've just put in some new interactive stuff. So the Gallery was closed off to the public, and when the museum staff came in to take all the dust covers off, bony here was gone."

"It's a Camarasaurus. " LeStrade looked at John as though he had just removed all his clothes at a Royal garden Party. "It's like a Diplodocus but smaller, and fatter."

"Anyway. Tonight Uniform answers a 999. An interrupted 999. Control sent a car just to see if it was a prank. When they got here they found the Security Guard dead on the floor and the Dinosaur missing. And then half an hour later we realised this one was back. It's such a random thing to steal . How would you ever sell it on? And now it's not just theft its murder."

"Interesting." Sherlock was looking up at the returned Dinosaur. John had moved over to the dinosaur and was studying it carefully.

"This isn't right. One of its vertebrae is missing. It should have 12 bones in its neck but there's only eleven here. Look" John reached up to point to the missing bone and realised his error as soon as his shirt became un-tucked. Sherlock raked his eyes over the exposed skin and John wished he had worn his longer jacket. He knew he was done for.

"Right. Lot to think about. Can you look into that Inspector? John. We need to go and pursue another line of inquiry." Sherlock practically dragged John out of the museum and into a taxi. He paid the taxi driver fifty pounds extra to get them to Baker Street by breaking the speed limits.

An hour later and two things were happening on different sides of London. At 221b Baker Street, John Watson was about thirty seconds away from Orgasm and was leaning down to lick the length of Sherlock's neck, whilst Sherlock concentrated really hard on not thinking whilst John was inside him, because he found he couldn't think and have Sex satisfactorily at the same time. But neither was he able to shut down his brain voluntarily, until...

"Oh My God John!"

Meanwhile in a disused warehouse far away and oblivious to the pleasure his nemesis was currently enjoying, James Moriarty sat looking at several cases of bones and humming gently to himself.

"The neck bone's connected to the...dum de dum... the ankle bone's connected to... de de dum... now hear the word of the Lord... "


	3. Chapter 3

It was early morning and John was woken up by the pleasant feeling of Sherlock's hand gently stroking his belly. And the slightly disturbing sound of a conversation going on just above his head. Please, please let Sherlock be talking to Morris (the skull). John opened his eyes and immediately felt a blush creeping over him. Mycroft Holmes was perched on the foot of the bed drinking tea from a Finn McMissile mug. Mycroft had a serene expression on his face, as though it was perfectly normal to have a conversation with your little brother whilst he fondled his boyfriend.

"It is of National Importance that we get that skeleton back. Oh good morning John, sorry to disturb you. "

"It's a Skeleton of a Dinosaur. How Nationally Important can it actually be?"

"Donald has been in the Museum for years."

"What about Mike?" John struggled into the sitting position. "The security guard? Why does no one care about Mike? He fought for his country and that's the thanks he gets. Everyone is more concerned about a bloody Diplodocus."

Sherlock placed a comforting hand over John's damaged shoulder and squeezed gently. John really wished he was wearing trousers. Or at least underwear. Righteous indignation was so much more difficult when you were naked.

"Mr Jones' death is of course tragic and regrettable. His wife and children will be looked after, as a reflection of the country's gratitude for his sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?" Sherlock sat a little further up on the pillows. "So Mike Jones wasn't an ordinary security guard. Which is why the curator didn't really know who he was? He was brought in to guard something specific. Special Services Mycroft? What was he guarding?"

"I can't tell you. But this comes from the absolute highest authority. You must find that dinosaur. Whatever the cost."

"What about the missing bit of the other dinosaur?" John was trying to ignore the view of Mycroft's highly polished Oxfords two inches away from his Kermit the Frog boxer shorts on the floor.

"Yes that is a worry. We should of course like that back as well. Sherlock? Don't let me down. Good day." Mycroft slipped from the room.

xxxxxxx

"Oh aren't you a beautiful lovely thing? If only I could extract some DNA from you. I might just get used to parenting!" Moriarty danced happily around his newly reconstructed Diplodocus. Clapping his hands together and grinning from ear to psychotic ear. The dinosaur grinned back at him, obviously enjoying the change of scenery.

For James Moriarty it had been love at first sight. On that School trip to the Museum when he was seven. He had told Donald that one day he would come back for him. And he had done. He hugged Donald's front left leg; there were no teachers or snotty security guards to tell him he couldn't touch. Not here. No signs saying "Do Not Climb on the Dinosaurs". No one could tell James Moriarty what to do. He was invincible!

xxxxxxxx

Sherlock pushed his uneaten pancake onto John's plate whilst John was making more coffee. John wouldn't notice. John was a little preoccupied, which was never a good thing, except for the disposal of unwanted breakfast. Sure enough John sat down and began to chew thoughtfully on the pancake without even noticing.

"What?" He noticed Sherlock smirking at him.

"Nothing. I was just wondering how you came to your diagnosis last night Doctor."

"The look on his face. It was fear. It's not something you can really explain. But fear has a smell, a taste. I've seen it before. Smelt it, tasted it..." Sherlock crouched down in front of John, looking deep into his eyes.

"Of course. Of Course. John you're brilliant." Sherlock grabbed John's face in both hands and kissed him. "Get some trousers on. We need to check the security guards office."


	4. Chapter 4

"What are we looking for exactly?" John had followed Sherlock under the SOC tape across the door of the Security Guards office.

"Something that would make a grown man die of fright. Think John."

"Erm, an Intruder?"

"He was special services. Guarding something. I think he would be expecting an intruder."

"Something he wasn't expecting then? Why are you asking me? You obviously already know what it is and you're just doing this so you can remind me of how clever you are. "

"Are you grumpy? Come on John. You know how much I really like you to help."

"Okay. A ghost. Someone from his past he thought was dead. Who obviously isn't because there's no such thing as ghosts."

"Good. Or something that made him think he was seeing a ghost. Something that also caused his heart to fail."

"Well that could be almost anything. There are all kinds of toxins which can cause visual and auditory hallucinations and also induce heart failure in the right dosage; most of them would show up on the tox-screen. But there would be some kind of residue, smell, vomit, needle marks where it was introduced to the body."

"You are completely correct John. Excellent. Do you know of any toxins that can be introduced without the individual being poisoned realising?"

"I can think of one. Devil's Foot Root. It's a hallucinogenic. But if taken in a strong enough concentration it sends you mad, and it's from the same family of plants as Digitalis. So it would also affect your heart. The Shamen out in Afghanistan use it."

"How do they take it?"

"Sometimes they make it into tea, but usually they smoke it. A tiny little bit mixed in with other herbs and tobacco. It's like a sticky resin stuff." Sherlock was looking at John as though he was the most beautiful object on the planet.

"God I am so turned on right now John Watson." Sherlock flicked his scarf, bearing his neck. John gulped.

"Absolutely not. Not in a dead blokes office. There is a line you just don't cross."

"Am I coming up on it?"

"Look behind you Genius." Sherlock sighed. And continued his search of the office. He picked up a mug of cold tea and sniffed it.

"Does that smell okay to you?"

"Well its day old cold tea. It smells as well as can be expected. Oh look at this. He's got one of those USB Mug warmer things. Now if you want to get me something for Christmas you can get me one of these. You just plug it in and it warms up and keeps your tea hot. Brilliant." Sherlock smiled indulgently. John really liked gadgets. Then he got that look on his face that said a billion pieces of jigsaw puzzle had all clicked into place.

"The tea! Of Course!" He tipped the mug out into the bin and turned it over. On the base of the mug were faint traces of a sticky substance. Sherlock sniffed.

"Devil's feet I presume. The murderer smeared it on the mug and then it heated up when Mike Jones stood it on his Mug warmer. This tiny room would have been filled with hallucinogenic fumes. "

"He would have tripping his tits off. That's my considered medical opinion by the way."

"Exactly. And imagine in that altered state of mind he came out into the hall and saw a gang of masked men moving a dinosaur."

"That would probably be enough to give him heart failure. Yes. It would certainly do it for me I think."

"So that's how the Security guard was disposed of. But why kill him? Why not just tie him up and gag him? And still why steal a dinosaur?"

"Maybe they didn't mean to kill him. It's not like you can accurately predict how someone is going to trip out. Maybe they just thought it would keep him occupied in La-La land whilst they got Donald out of the way."

"But how?" Sherlock spent the next hour crawling around on the floor of the natural History Museum, getting tutted at by passing staff members who were obviously having a period of mourning for their missing Diplodocus. Suddenly he leapt to his feet.

"John! I know how they got it out of here!" And Sherlock was off and running, his scarf and coat billowing behind him in full sail. John grinned happily as he sped off in Sherlock's wake. No matter what happened he was getting some tonight!


	5. Chapter 5

John ran along beside Sherlock, struggling to keep up and vaguely aware that he probably looked like a Jack Russell trying to pee up a fast moving lamppost.

"Sherlock where are we going?" They had rounded the back of the museum and were now in a wholly unfamiliar and apparently disused area. There were steps going down to a pair of locked and chained doors.

"Down here." John looked and could just make out under several years of city dirt and grime the chipped white tiles that still remained on the red bricks. And part of a red and blue circle.

"The Underground?"

"Not just the Underground John. The British Museum Stations."

"But there aren't any British Museum Stations."

"Not any more but there used to be. There are miles of disused line and a plethora of abandoned stations under the whole of London. Including one that goes right under this museum and the British Museum. Whilst I was checking the vents in the floor I noticed a distinct smell that comes from the particular lubricating oils they use on the wheels of tube trains. Only there shouldn't be any running under the museum."

"So someone is using the old line to travel about?"

"Exactly."

"Well this looks like its still fairly locked. If someone had opened it there would be marks on the floor?" Sherlock smiled. John's deductive powers were coming along nicely.

"We really need to find out what is inside that Dinosaur. It is the key to the whole case. Has to be."

"Mycroft won't tell you."

"Bollocks to Mycroft and his _need to know_. I need to know. And so do you."

"Well thank you for making me a part of this but I'd rather not get eviscerated by your big brother if it's all the same to you."

"Rubbish. If he wants his bloody Dinosaur back he can just tell us what is so important." Sherlock took off back up the stairs and out onto the street where he flagged down a cab. John just made it.

"Where to mate?" The Cab driver smiled in his rear view mirror.

"The Diogenes Club please."


	6. Chapter 6

John was feeling rather uncomfortable. When they had arrived at the Diogenes Club, which looked very much as though it had remained unchanged through two centuries the doorman had decided John's jumper was not quite smart enough to permit him entry. A suitable jacket, one size fits nobody had been found for him. Which had meant the removal of his jumper. Something that was fraught with peril whenever Sherlock was around.

They were now sat in a small mahogany paneled room waiting for Mycroft to be retrieved from the leathery bowels of the institute. Sherlock was gazing at John's recently exposed, but now safely covered in tweed, midriff.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you just ordered me on toast." The door opened and the elder Holmes brother entered.

"Sherlock. Have you found it?"

"No. I need access to the Underground. The unauthorized Underground."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Oh come off it, you said it was of national importance, lives were at stake, security and all that bollocks. I need to get down there."

Mycroft sat quietly for a moment, a look of absolute concentration on his face as he weighed up Donald and his precious secret's retrieval against the havoc his little brother could serve on an unsuspecting London with access to everywhere.

"Alright. But you are to stay away from Buckingham Palace, Downing Street, The Tower and the Thames Flood Barrier."

"There's a disused line under Buckingham Palace?"

"Delete that at once Sherlock. And you Doctor Watson."

"Delete what?" John asked innocently. He was a very quick learner.

"Good boy."

"I'm not a dog." John folded his arms and managed to look even cuter in his anger.

"John's not a dog Mycroft. And neither am I. You don't just shout fetch and we go and get. What is so important about this Dinosaur?"

Mycroft mumbled something.

"What?"

"I said it has something concealed within its skull."

"What Something?"

"The Pendragon Cipher." Sherlock laughed. John looked confused.

"But that isn't even a real thing. It's just a whole lot of superstitious crap. Are you telling me that you are wasting my time to recover a Child's fairy tale?"

"What exactly is the Pendragon Cipher?" John Watson wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew he did not like the sound of it one bit.

"A load of old bollocks."

"It is a stone tablet, upon which is written a sacred prophesy concerning the fate of the realm of England. " Mycroft looked as though every word was costing him.

"No Sorry. Don't understand."

"It is believed that whilst the tablet remains intact and within this sceptred isle we remain safe. But if it is taken and broken into pieces, we are doomed." Sherlock sniggered. "Together we stand, Divided we fall Doctor."

"That's extraordinary."

"No John, the phrase you're looking for is: That is Horse-Shit."

"Setting aside the freaky supernatural stuff for a moment. Why is something this important stuck in the head of a Diplodocus? Shouldn't it be in a vault somewhere, under surveillance? With guns and stuff?"

"One of the terms of the prophesy is that it has to be kept in a certain place. Adhering to certain ley-lines."

"You aligned a Dinosaur with ley-lines?"

"No we aligned the natural History Museum with ley-lines. Then we just conveniently put the cipher in the Dinosaur."

"And you believe all this? About the Cipher?"

"It is not a question of believing Doctor, I am ordered to protect it by Her Majesty. And She does believe." John considered this for a moment whilst Sherlock folded his arms and regarded his brother as though he had just sprouted a second head. "I would have thought as an Officer who has served Her Majesty you would understand John."

"Yes. Yes I do." John said quietly.

"Well I don't. The whole thing is boring!" John looked at Sherlock for a moment.

"Sherlock!"

"Boring!" Mycroft looked at John Watson like a drowning man. John could only imagine the trouble Mycroft would be in if he had to explain to Her Majesty that his little brother wouldn't help. You took your orders and you obeyed them. Even if it meant getting shot. Or chasing around London after a dinosaur. John understood. He undid his tweedy jacket and stretched into a yawn, getting Sherlock's full attention.

"What I don't get, is why you would take the whole dinosaur if you knew what you wanted was in its head?" Sherlock raked his eyes over John.

"Of course. The two things aren't related at all. Whoever has the dinosaur wanted a dinosaur. They have no idea what they've actually stolen. Come on John." Mycroft shot John Watson a look of pure gratitude as John raced after Sherlock.


	7. Chapter 7

James Moriarty was still drooling over his new acquisition of an old friend. He had instructed one of his lackeys to construct a scaffold tower in front of Donald so that he would be able to talk face to face. And he had a surprise for the elderly dinosaur.

"I got you a present." He held a little gold gift bag in front of Donald's nose. "Do you want to see what it is?" He took the dinosaur's silence to mean yes, and with a flourish produced a state of the art electric tooth brush. "Now let's get that smile all nice and minty bright shall we?" And the master criminal set to work cleaning the magnificent set of teeth.

Unaware of Moriarty's sudden interest in dental hygiene, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were waiting at 221B Baker Street for one of Mycroft's many minions to deliver the keys and map to the under-underground. Sherlock did not like waiting one little bit. It was boring and pointless and made his brain hurt. John didn't mind. He found it was an excellent opportunity to make tea and catch up on his sandwich intake, which had seriously taken a beating over the past few days.

"What the hell is that John? " Sherlock pointed at the sandwich John had just walked past him. It looked as though it was trying to escape.

"Someone forgot it was their turn to go shopping. So I improvised. It's a barbeque super noodle and gherkin sandwich. Want a bite?" Sherlock pulled a face. "It's not bad actually."

Sherlock massaged his temples and looked blankly at the wall. Thinking. Processing. John munched his sandwich as quietly as possible. Trying to ignore the back of Sherlock's neck as much as possible.

"Stop looking at my neck John. I can hear you fantasising. It is stopping me think." John put down his sandwich.

"I thought there was only one way to stop you thinking?" he moved round to the front of Sherlock. The view wasn't bad from there either. And very slowly and deliberately John began to unbutton his shirt. "So tell me what I'm fantasising about genius."

"Stop it right now John. We have missing dinosaur to ... Oh good lord." It was a lost cause. Or at least it would have been if there hadn't been a tentative knock at the door.

"Sherlock dear?"

"Not now Mrs Hudson!"

"There's a man here. Something to do with your brother." Sherlock swore Mycroft did it on purpose, just because he wasn't getting any. Or was likely to, the fat, tight arsed git. Sherlock began plotting Mycroft's murder, not for the first time, and opened the door. A very disgruntled John Watson went back to his eccentric sandwich without even bothering to do his shirt back up.

The young man at the door had obviously been picked for his good looks. As he gave Sherlock a big grin from under a floppy quiff.

"Hi I'm David. Mr Holmes has sent me to take you on a tour of the wine cellar." The Scottish accent was quite sexy.

"You don't have to speak in code. I'm not a tourist. David?"

"David McDonald. Hi." He smiled again "I've just been moved across from another department."

"Sherlock Holmes. I'm your boss's brother." Sherlock smiled back. John had seen quite enough.

"John Watson. Captain John Watson. I'm your boss's brother's boyfriend. And I have a gun."

"Oh." David looked a bit flustered. He had obviously not been expecting a combat situation. "Well, Mr Holmes, I have the keys and maps and I'm at your disposal and I'll just wait in the car." Sherlock looked at John then back at the flustered young man at the door, then back to John's undone shirt.

"Just give me 15 minutes to get my things together." Sherlock all but slammed the door in his face. John looked so hot when he got all jealous and possessive. "I've shut the door John; you can stop holding your gut in now."

"Piss off." John tried to let his breath out very slowly.

"We have fifteen minutes. What would you like to do?" And Sherlock ran his hand up John's chest.

Moriarty was just edging carefully around Donald's incisors with sensitive teeth toothpaste, with extra whitening, when he heard a curious rattle. He held the toothbrush to his ear, considering blowing up the store he got it from if it was faulty; really the sixteen day money back guarantee was wasted on a master criminal. But the toothbrush wasn't the source of the rattle. He looked at the Diplodocus, and gently pushed against the side of his head. Rattle.

"Donald? Are you okay?" Panic stricken he peered in through one of Donald's eye sockets and saw a strange bundle stuffed inside his head. He was outraged. Did they want to give his friend a migraine? He opened the jaw and carefully reached inside until his fingers closed around a linen wrapped package. He withdrew his arm and looked at the parcel in his hands then slowly opened it.

"Oh Shit!" He exclaimed. "And quite possibly F**k, bollocks and arse as well." For once Jim Moriarty knew he had bitten off more than even Donald's impressive teeth could chew.


	8. Chapter 8

Fourteen minutes and fifty one seconds later a very happy John Watson and a slightly shell-shocked Sherlock climbed into the waiting car and were whisked through the London traffic back to the museum. David MacDonald kept eyeing John nervously in the rear view mirror, and trying not to look at Sherlock at all. It was his first day in the new department and he really didn't want it to end with him being shot by a short, jumper clad psycho. He sensed that would not look good on his permanent record.

Sherlock had sufficiently recovered by the time they reached the museum to leap out of the car and bounce down the stairs that led to the underground. However David was giving John a very wide berth and was bringing up the rear. Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently.

"Come on. The security of the nation is at stake!" John raised an eyebrow at this statement.

"You only want to go down there so you can play. You don't care about the security of the nation."

"No. But I find this crime intriguing John. Annoyingly so and I want to solve it."

David produced an impressively gothic set of keys and opened the padlock to release the chains. The doors pulled open, releasing a gust of warm, slightly musty air which blew gently over them.

There was a slight breeze which James Moriarty had noticed coming in from one of the air vents. He instructed a couple of lackeys to put a sheet over Donald so he wouldn't get cold, but really the ducting was the least of his worries. Because he, James O'Flaherty Fingal Moriarty had managed to steal the Pendragon Cipher. Without even trying. And whilst the part of him that would forever be Evil Criminal Genius was feeling rather pleased with itself. The rest of him which was mostly made up of Insecurity, neurosis and a seven year old boy who just wanted his own dinosaur, was currently in meltdown.

Sherlock might not believe in the Cipher's power. But Moriarty did. Especially the "who-so-ever stealeth me shall be mightily smited" bit. Especially the bit involving the pointy stick and all eternity.

"I know it's not your fault Donald." He gazed up at the concerned face of the dinosaur. "But we are in the shit." And with a heavy heart he realised the only way to save him from eternal poking was to return Donald and the Cipher and then go and hide in a faraway place where he would never be found. Like Swansea.

"Oh this is brilliant!" John had a big grin plastered on his face as they raced along the disused rails on a hand truck.

"Absolutely!" Sherlock agreed. Mainly because John's midriff got exposed every time he reached up to pull the pump handle back down.

"Hey what was that?" Zipping along they had got down to a fine art, stopping was another matter. The wheels screeched and sparked to a halt and they jumped off the truck and back along the track to where John had spotted something on the floor, which had been picked out in the headlamps of the truck.

"So what is it John?" Sherlock looked to where John was pointing.

"It's the missing Vertebrae from the other dinosaur." John crouched down.

"Then, if you will excuse the pun, we are most definitely on the right track."

"Take off your scarf."

"It's hardly the time and place John, is it?"

"No. I want to wrap up the bones in your scarf to protect it, and for forensics." Wrong time and place or not, Sherlock managed to look a little disappointed in the torch light as John carefully packaged up the neck bone in Sherlock's favourite blue scarf.

They continued a little further down the track on the truck, until they reached a set of points.

"Which way?" John asked peering into the gloom of both tunnels. On the wall in between the two someone had painted two large gold stars. Sherlock pressed his nose against the paint and sniffed.

"Recently painted. We need to take the right hand tunnel."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"The cobwebs have been disturbed. And I know my children's literature. It was one of Nanny's favourites. If I'm not mistaken Mornington Crescent Station will be coming up soon. The disused part at least."

Sherlock took in John's puzzled expression.

"Peter Pan, John! What does go on in your head sometimes?" And not really caring to know the answer Sherlock began pushing the handle up and down to move the truck.


	9. Chapter 9

It was with a heavy heart that Moriarty began disassembling Donald and carefully packing him into crates for his trip back to the museum. Donald looked most put out about it. But really there was nothing else to be done. Not unless they both wanted to incur the wrath of the thing from high atop the whatever. 

Unfortunately for both of them it seemed that the thing's wrath was already on its way. Nemesis has many forms. She used to go about in Chariot pulled by Griffins and carry a measuring rod and a whip with which to rain down justice on miscreants. But at that moment Nemesis had hitched a ride on the back of a Hand Truck and was currently wearing a rather fetching overcoat. Or possibly an Aran sweater. Or both.

And right at that moment Retribution in the shape of John Watson was sweating his balls off. He never realised just how warm it got underneath everything. Especially when everything was also underneath a layer of woolly Jumper. This had not gone unnoticed by Sherlock, who was really hoping that at some point John was going to have to take his jumper off. And whilst the fate of the nation was at stake etc. Sherlock was sure it could last an extra fifteen or so minutes.

"John if you're hot we can stop so you can take your Jumper off. We don't want you passing out from heat exhaustion."

"Yes. You look very concerned. I'm not an idiot. You just want a quick peek at my belly button." John panted, looking slightly annoyed. But stopped anyway. And peeled off his sweaty jumper which also had his sweaty T-shirt stuck to it.

"I think you should stay like that John."

"I bet you do." He started to separate his damp clothing.

"You'll be so much cooler like that." Sherlock tried to look winningly at him but John was looking in the opposite direction. He could feel a strange warm breeze on his now cooling torso. A breeze that reminded him of...

"Sherlock. Move!" He dived across to Sherlock and rugby tackled him off of the truck and onto the filthy floor as a tube train rushed past them.

"This is supposed to be a disused line." Sherlock roared above the train as it clacked along the rails and into the darkness. The noise was swallowed into the black and Sherlock became very aware that John Watson was on top of him. "Well as you just saved my life John, I feel I should repay you."

"I think that's going to have to wait. That train wasn't using the electric rails. If it was we would have been fried. So I think that has something to do with our missing dinosaur. "John spoke through gritted teeth. "And I think I just broke my collar bone." And then John passed out leaving Sherlock alone in the gloom.


	10. Chapter 10

John was grumpy. Sherlock supposed it was justified as his Collarbone did look quite nasty. And there was no phone reception in whatever part of London they were under. The truck had been wrecked when the train passed and they had one torch.

John instructed Sherlock on the making of a sling to support his shoulder and then with a great deal of effort swallowed some painkillers with no water.

"We need to get out of here. How far do you think we've come?" John was speaking through gritted teeth. It made his voice sound rather sexy.

"It's too far to go back. I suggest we go forward. I think wherever our Dinosaur thieves have been hiding is fairly close."

"How do you figure that?" John had drops of sweat on his forehead, but he was shivering.

"No rats. There all over the place where the tunnels are disused, but they've obviously realised that in this part they stand a good chance of getting squashed flat and keep out of the way."

"Yuk. Rats."

"You don't like rats?"

"No."

"You always know where you are with a rat. This way John." He paused. "Can you walk?"

"Yes. I'm not staying here in the darkness waiting to be eaten."

They walk for fifteen minutes before they saw a light up ahead. A kind of strange blue glow in the tunnel. John drew his gun with his good hand. And they walked on.

At the Natural History Museum the last few visitors were filing out and the cleaning crew was setting about its daily routine of scrubbing the museum of the detritus of a multitude of school children. The places those kids managed to leave sandwiches would disgust you with human nature.

Billy Burke had been a cleaner at the museum since he'd left school aged 14. He loved the old place. And whilst all he ever did was mop and buff floors, on some level he felt like he was serving his country. It was a noble profession to make sure the museum was always presented at its very best to visitors. Almost a higher calling.

"Oh those dirty little bastards." He said looking at a case full of dinosaur eggs, the glass smeared liberally with bogies. He went to fetch a cloth. And that was when he heard a strange noise.

Probably no one else would have noticed it. But then no one knew the sounds of the museum at night like Billy. Over the years, whilst he silently cleaned, he had come to know all the creaks and groans and bangs as the building settled. But this grating noise was something different. Brandishing his mop as a weapon, with the faith of a man who had devoted a life to floor hygiene he tiptoed carefully behind an animatronic Triceratops and waited. No one was going to mess up his museum, not after he'd just mopped the bugger.


	11. Chapter 11

Whatever Moriarty had been expecting with regards to improved museum security, it had not been a disgruntled octogenarian with a floor mop bearing down on him.

"Get out you little bastard. I just mopped that." Billy Burke roared, almost spitting his false teeth out in his anger.

"What?" Moriarty was confused and then somewhere in the back of his mind something clicked. The lonely seven year old boy at the back of the class with his runny nose looking wistfully up into the eyes of the most magnificent creature he had ever seen. The hand reaching forward to gently stroke the leg bone. And then some nasty old man shouting at him not to touch. But he wasn't seven any more. And he wasn't going to be told what to do by any one. He was James Moriarty.

The disused station of Mornington Temple had in its heyday been a bastion of Victorian gentility. With a tea room, ladies waiting room and gentleman's smoking parlour. But now, it was a series of dusty, gloomy rooms with chipped tiles and crumbling plaster. And the distinct smell of hot chocolate and mint toothpaste in the air. Sherlock pushed against a metal clad door and entered a whole new world. A world full of computers and surveillance equipment and rather disturbingly several space hoppers.

Someone had set up an area like a living room, and a coffee table was littered with blueprints and money and chocolate biscuit crumbs. Sherlock's phone bleeped. He had signal. And he immediately dialled his brother.

"Mycroft. It's urgent. We are in the Mornington Temple station. John has hurt his shoulder. And I think you need to send some men to the Museum now. It's James Moriarty." He turned to see John sitting dejectedly on the sofa nursing his shoulder.

"Mycroft is sending a car straight away. They shouldn't be too long." Sherlock sat next to John, rather concerned for the amount of pain he was in. And also rather puzzled. He knew that Moriarty was at the bottom of the spate of Dinosaur thefts, but could not for the life of him think why. He stroked the back of John's head and puzzled it over.

"What's that over there?" John asked nodding his head in the direction of the far corner.

"Looks like some lab equipment."

"Why would he have lab equipment?"

"The same reason I do. Experiments."

"Oh my God. Jurassic Park."

"What?"

"You've not seen Jurassic Park? Dinosaur DNA? Big huge lizards stomping all over New York and Richard Attenborough?" John was clearly talking a foreign language.

"Is that a film?"

"Yes."

"So it isn't real?"

"No. But Moriarty's a genius. And if that is a DNA lab we know why he wanted a dinosaur."

"John, I think the pain is getting to you." John was about to protest when a door swung open. John moved his gun like lightening, causing the broken edges of his collar bone to rub together and make him feel rather sick.

"Please don't shoot me Doctor Watson. It's me. David McDonald." John lowered his gun. And passed out again.


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock had to admit that his brother was good in an emergency. Mainly because everyone was so scared of him they did exactly what he wanted. So if he wanted say, armed response units, helicopters, and unmarked vehicles with large men in suits he generally got them and no questions asked. This time it looked like he'd pulled out all the stops. John had been placed in an ambulance and was currently having his shoulder stabilised and being given drugs that made him giggle and go cross eyed. And Sherlock was in a large black car with Mycroft on his way to the Natural History Museum, breaking every speed limit there was.

"Moriarty?"

"Yes."

"But in God's name why?"

"He doesn't really need a reason. He does things to prove how clever he is."

"Hmm" Mycroft looked pointedly at his brother.

"John seemed to think it was something to do with extracting DNA from the dinosaur? Something about a Jurassic Park? Although I think the pain was getting to him."

"Well that would explain why they brought the first dinosaur back. It isn't real. Just a display model made from resin. Donald is of course real."

"So you think John might be right?"

"By the law of infinites it had to happen eventually."

"That isn't very nice Mycroft. Only I'm allowed to insult my Boyfriend."

"Well my men are in position at the museum. If Moriarty shows up. We'll have him."

Xxxxx

James Moriarty had just dealt with the mop wielding pensioner and was feeling rather pleased with himself. His lackeys were carefully reassembling Donald, taking extra care to dust all his bones before placing them. Moriarty figured that no one could prosecute him for borrowing a dinosaur? And no one, not even that smart arse Sherlock Holmes and his chunky little boyfriend would be able to work it out. There was a small amount of satisfaction that, out of this terrible mess, Moriarty would have managed to drive Sherlock completely bonkers. Although that was scant consolation for having to break his promise to Donald.

"I'll come and visit you though Donald. You know this doesn't mean that I don't love you?" The dinosaur looked miserable. Moriarty felt the tears beginning to prickle in his eyes. And then he became aware of the multitude of tiny little red fire flies that were suddenly buzzing around him. One tiny pin prick of scarlet light settled on his forehead.

"Oh that is just not fair!" he shouted and burst in to tears.


	13. Chapter 13

The red dot on Moriarty's forehead, right between his eyes, meant only one thing. One false move and he was dead. And it also meant that somewhere Mycroft Holmes was lurking in the shadows. Moriarty wiped the tears from his eyes. He was frightened. Something quite unusual for him, mainly because he knew that Mycroft Holmes was a complete bastard with no heart whatsoever. He doubted if Mycroft would understand about Donald.

And of course with several guns pointing at him James Moriarty's inner seven year old was about to wet himself. He instinctively squirmed and tried to cross his legs and someone took that to be a provocation and pulled the trigger.

Mycroft Holmes, looking rather dashing in his black combat trousers and tactical vest, and Sherlock, managing to look even more dashing in his overcoat and a selection of dust and cobwebs. They arrived just in time to see James Moriarty squirming under the laser sites and hear a high powered rifle go off. And the large bony head of Donald the Diplodocus slide off of its neck and take the bullet. It did hit Moriarty on the head and he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Mycroft was horrified. The bullet may have damaged the Cipher. And there was that bit about pointy sticks and all eternity he had really been hoping to avoid. Sherlock was horrified that they had missed Moriarty. And Moriarty was hugging Donald's head groggily.

"You saved me. Donald. You saved me. Are you all right?" Donald's rather thick skull seemed to be intact but there was an ugly hole right between his eyes. Donald seemed just a little put out about it.

"James Moriarty I am arresting you under the security of the realm act 1870. You have absolutely no rights whatsoever. Take him to The Tower." Mycroft was quite sexy when he was doing his servant of Her Majesty act. Sherlock saw David McDonald swoon a little out of the corner of his eye. That was handy to know.

"But is Donald okay?" For a man who had just been arrested for treason Moriarty seemed very unconcerned for himself. Sherlock might have been touched but for the fact that John was in hospital, in agony because of Moriarty and his bloody dinosaur.

"The Dinosaur's fine. You on the other hand..." And he kicked him squarely in the balls.

"That's enough Sherlock." But Mycroft looked like he quite wanted to join in.


	14. Chapter 14

James Moriarty was taken away for questioning. It seemed this was going to involve Mycroft shouting at him until he cried or wet himself. Or both. David McDonald was fussing around Mycroft and bringing him coffee. Mycroft was mostly ignoring him.

"Well Her Majesty will be most pleased with the outcome Sherlock. I should think there might be some reward for you."

"Don't you get anything?"

"My reward is to serve" David McDonald wrote that down. Some people were so easily impressed by bullshit.

"Yes of course." Sherlock was not happy.

"I would have thought you'd have been pleased. Foiled Moriarty again. Rewards from the Queen. Could even be a knighthood you know."

"Yes. But John's in hospital. And my coat is going to need dry cleaning. And John's collar bone is broken. Which means no sex for as long as it takes to heal." Mycroft looked amused.

"Sherlock."

"I'm sure you find it amusing. Just because you haven't had any since 1997."

"Is that really what you think? Your deductive powers are faltering slightly. And its quite simple little brother. You just need to try a different position. Although I would wait till the poor man's general anaesthetic has worn off." Mycroft looked unbearably smug.

"What about the dinosaur DNA?"

"We have a team of experts on it right now. But I don't think the patter of tiny Donalds is imminent. What we are curious about is how you knew which way to go. I've had a team down there and they were running around and shooting up all the wrong passages."

"It was quite simple, dear brother. Moriarty's reasoning is very childish. As though he never grew up. Of course Nanny used to read Peter Pan to me. And it was elementary once I saw the stars painted on the wall. Second to the right, and straight on, in this case to Mornington Temple."

"Ah dear Nanny. How I miss her Eccles cakes. Anyway Sherlock. You better be going to the hospital. And do be gentle with him. I suggest trying oral sex, it's surprisingly satisfying." David McDonald wrote that down as well. Sherlock scowled.

"I hate you. Goodbye." And Sherlock left, wondering how long a general anaesthetic took to wear off.

Here ends the Adventure of the Missing Dinosaur. (Except that it took John two days to recover from his anaesthetic and when he got home with a sling on his arm, still slightly trippy from the painkillers, Sherlock gave him the best blow job he had ever had, and Sherlock realised that he was at eye level with John's belly button. And John realised he had a bird's eye view of the back of Sherlock's neck. And they wondered how, for two very clever people they hadn't thought of that before.)

Sherlock & John will return in the New Year in The Adventure of The London Gherkin.


End file.
